


There’s truth in beer

by Squickqueen, Talimee



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Beer, Fluff, M/M, Translation, logurt - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 18:10:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4446506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squickqueen/pseuds/Squickqueen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talimee/pseuds/Talimee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the answer to a question prompts even more questions.<br/>It's all the beer's fault!</p>
            </blockquote>





	There’s truth in beer

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Im Bier liegt Wahrheit](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2886587) by [Squickqueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squickqueen/pseuds/Squickqueen). 



> All bow to the lovely Talimee, who translated this snippet of mine!

If there was one thing in the world to connect Logan and Kurt it was beer.  
Cold, refreshing beer!  
And even if Kurt was sometimes missing the stout and heavy brews of his old homeland, Logan's company when drinking had made the New World beverages more palatable for him. Whole companies of soldiers could have been kept in stock with the amounts of beer the two X-Men had consumed over the years and it didn’t look as if anything would change with that in the future.

The two fundamentally different men found their even ground over a pint of beer. It brought them together, helped them to talk about things they would not dare discussing otherwise: all and sundry, sorrows and regrets.

Logan had often asked himself in the past whether it was (just) the beer which calmed him down in such moments or the presence of Kurt Wagner, or Nightcrawler, as the German mutant had been called since his days at the circus.

The “School for Gifted Youngsters” had long ago quieted down for the night. Only occasionally one could hear the dull thud of a door when one of its pupils went for a nightly bathroom visit. Logan visited the place only occasionally but he was glad that the institute with its dramatic past had once again risen like Phoenix from the ashes. The school was an important place for young mutants, who could turn to no-one else for help and guidance. So it had been in Xavier’s time and so it was still. Maybe, he mused idly, maybe he too should have settled down here, like Kurt, who had taken on the job of headmaster of the institute.  
But the place held too many memories for someone eternally driven like Logan to make settling down possible. Occasional visits, yes, but to give one’s live to the school? No.

A smile was playing on Kurt’s sharp and noble features which would have pleased a depraved Arian beauty-concept of the past if he hadn’t had soft blue fur, sulphur-yellow eyes and pointed ears. His prehensile tail with the arrow-tip was curling itself languishly as he projected a picture of utter relaxation.

“Do you know vat is really strange, Logan?”

After the umpteenth beer Kurt’s voice sounded muffled in the stocky Canadian’s ears. The heavy German accent with the hard pronunciation didn’t quite fit for a man whom Logan knew to be one of the most ethical and honourable persons he had ever met.

“And what would that be, elf?”

The teleporter rolled his beer bottle between his three-fingered-hands before setting it back on the table. He leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms across his chest and looked thoughtfully up at the ceiling.  
Logan meanwhile wished fervently that that twice damned tail would stop to undulate already so that he could concentrate on what Kurt was going to say.

“I have been together with a lot of women. And if not “together”, than quite close: Ororo, Cerise, Amanda, Christine, Kätzchen.” Nightcrawler sighed.

“So you’re a real lady’s man”, said Logan and opened up his next bottle with a claw. With a loud pop the cap flew in the air and landed on the tiles, from where it was picked up by Kurt’s tail and placed back on the table outside Logan’s reach.

“You are quite right, mein Freund. But as much as I cherished and loved the women in my life I could never hold on to them for long. As a youngster I thought the reason was my appearance. Later I guessed that I just was not able to commit myself to any one person. And at another point in my life I thought it all a divine trial.”

“And now you know the reason?”

“Yes. It is sitting opposite of me.”

Logan could only barley suppress the reflex to turn around. In earlier years it had been virtually impossible for him to get drunk – now he felt clearly inebriated. Kurt hadn’t said the thing he had just heard, had he?

“Since when are you gay?”, he asked sceptically.

Kurt rolled his eyes.

“You misunderstand me, Logan! No one said that I vant to sleep with you. Gott bewahre! But I can no longer ignore that I feel more deeply for you than for any woman I have been with. All the things we encountered together in the good and bad old days! I feel good around you. I miss you when you’re gone. If the thought of another man loving you is repulsive for you, I want you to think about it as “Bruderliebe” – brotherly love. The word does a poor job of describing how I feel about you but it comes somewhat close.”

Logan suckled on his bottle for a while as if finding an answer this way would be easier. Kurt was silent as well.  
The furry mutant was asking himself whether he had been too open. Logan and he had always been close friends who could count on one another in a tight spot. But even though he knew Logan well, Kurt could not fathom how the other one would react to this kind of revelation. Maybe, instead of being lured by the moment into opening himself up, he should have kept his mouth shut about this ...

Before he could say something else or apologize to Logan, the Canadian slammed his bottle back on the table and stood up. His chair scraped over the floor. Kurt rose as well. Even if Logan had become more settled in recent years there was still enough of “Wolverine” left in him – and _he_ tended to destroy things with rage.

“Now I will tell _you_ something, elf!” The bulky man’s voice vibrated.

“Please don’t be mad, Logan, but …”

Kurt never got the chance to finish this sentence because suddenly he felt himself yanked up by his collar. He grabbed Logan’s wrists. Their faces were so close their noses nearly touched, but he jerked his head back as he heard claws extend and felt them brush through the fur at his neck.

“Verdammt noch mal, Logan! Hör auf mit dem Schwachsinn!“ **

Wolverine stopped his protests with a kiss.

No razor-sharp claws tearing through his throat, but Kurt wasn’t sure if he would have preferred the adamantium claws nevertheless.  
It might have been only a fraction of a second of their lips touching until Kurt, bewildered, surprised and downright panicked, teleported away.

Logan was left with only sulphurous pink mist and ringing ears. He coughed and shook is head. The teleport’s clap had always been way too loud for his sensitive ears. He looked around in search for Kurt but couldn’t find a trace of him.

He fumbled in his pockets and lit a cigar – in blatant disregard of the school-wide ban on smoking – and smirked. He puffed the cigar into life, thrust his hands into his pockets and turned to leave the kitchen.

“Good night, elf”, he called nonchalantly back over his shoulders.

He knew very well that Kurt had fled into a dark corner somewhere and was now hanging there under the ceiling just like a cat which had been threatened with a garden hose.  
He was proven right, when after the door had shut and peace and twilight had returned to the room a pair of yellow eyes appeared out of the darkness near the kitchen ceiling.

Nightcrawler let himself glide down to the floor in one smooth and silent movement. Once one the ground he stared at the closed door for a while as if hoping it would open again.  
He was as much confused as he was angry. He had thought to have finally found the answer to the question of his lifelong drifting between women and now this small hairy man with his horrible stinking cigars and his even worse manners had thrown him a dozen more questions.

Absent-mindedly his tongue licked over his lips.

“Logan, du Hund”, he growled quietly before he evaporated in smoke and thunderclap to track down Wolverine and demand answers. Only the smell of sulphur stayed behind.

And empty beer bottles.

~ The End ~

** Dammit, Logan! Stop this madness!


End file.
